


The Treachery of Coriander and Roses

by Slow_Burn_Sally



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Childercelles, Dubious Consent, First Time, Hate Sex, M/M, Sex Pollen, Shameful Secret Trash Ship, because sex pollen, but they both want it anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-24
Updated: 2020-05-24
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:00:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24360214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slow_Burn_Sally/pseuds/Slow_Burn_Sally
Summary: “My, those flowers are lovely,” he said, with a distant air of someone who has something on his mind. Instead of scolding Childermass, he leaned in and also smelled the fragrance of the bouquet. Childermass should have warned him that the flowers had something of dark magic about them, but he was too distracted by the sight of Lascelles’ thick lashes brushing the tops of his pale cheeks as he closed his eyes to inhale the flowers’ perfume, and found that his voice had died in his throat.
Relationships: Arabella Strange/Jonathan Strange, John Childermass/Henry Lascelles
Comments: 11
Kudos: 21





	The Treachery of Coriander and Roses

**Author's Note:**

> Sex pollen Childercelles fic derived from a tumblr ask about which characters should be paired up with which fic trope. The thought of Childermass and Lascelles in a sex pollen trope scenario just tickled me pink. It's sort of a mix of book and show. I hope you enjoy!

“Are not these flowers lovely Stephen?” The gentleman lifted one velvet clad arm and held up a bouquet of flowers for Stephen’s approval.

They were indeed lovely, though poor Stephen was beyond caring overly much about the sadistic and capricious whims of his master. After more years than he cared to contemplate spent under the sway of the gentleman’s dark enchantments, the gentleman’s plots and tricks had begun to bleed together. 

“Indeed sir,” he said with a weary tone to his voice. “They are quite beautiful.” 

“Well,” replied the gentleman with a twitch of his rather impressive eyebrows. “Aren’t you wondering whom they might be for?”

Stephen had hoped to avoid discovering the purpose of the arrangement of mauve carnations, orange and coral colored roses and sprigs of white coriander flowers tied with a black silk ribbon. Where this particular gentleman was concerned, there was rarely anything decent, kind or Christian afoot. Stephen had grown ever so weary of his strange benefactor’s flights of fancy. The terror of them weighed upon him so. But he was a polite and proper man of good manners and so he asked, “Whom might they be for sir?”

“They are a gift for my new lady friend. The wife of that horrid magician,” the gentleman responded, sounding ever so pleased with himself. 

Stephen groaned inwardly when he remembered that the gentleman had become fixated upon Arabella Strange, wife to the magician Johathan Strange. He had hoped that the gentleman would have forgotten about her, and that perhaps his ardor had had a chance to cool since he’d first spotted her, but alas, it apparently had not. 

“I am sure she will find them quite lovely my lord,” he said with a gentle sigh. 

“Oh, I am certain she will find them more than lovely Stephen,” replied the gentleman with a sly grin. “Once she smells the pollen of these flowers, she will be consumed with the strongest urge to throw herself most ardently into the arms of the nearest gentleman she sees. Well,” and here he paused for a moment, thinking, “truth be told,” he continued, “she will in fact throw herself into the arms of the closest gentleman _for whom she harbors passionate feelings_.” His grin grew wider, looking for all the world like that of a cat about to pounce on a mouse. “I have been spending a good bit of time in her company lately Stephen, and she has exhibited quite a few signs and signals that she has fallen hopelessly under the charms of my tender attempts to court her!” 

“So, she must first desire you if the flowers are to work their magic?” Stephen was a tiny bit curious despite himself. 

“Yes, yes! It would be quite the harsh blow to my ego if I were to rely _entirely_ upon magic to tempt the lady into my arms. No, the flowers are meant to inflame an _existing_ passion. One that the bearer might not think appropriate or decent to act upon, but one that they long to act upon nonetheless. Have no fear Stephen! I am certain that she harbors a crackling flame of lust for me inside her tender breast. Why, I can tell it by the way she looks upon me.”

Stephen had, until this point only observed Mrs. Strange looking at the gentleman with confusion and concern, being as he always visited her within the protections of his enchantment and never shewed himself to her completely. He was uncertain if Mrs. Strange even quite knew that the gentleman existed, let alone that she was harboring any ‘crackling flames of lust’ for him. But he kept silent and nodded as if the gentleman’s words were the wisest and most rational he had ever had the privilege of hearing. 

“Ah! Here comes my lady now!” The gentleman’s pale, handsome face lit up with an excited smile as he glimpsed Arabella Strange descending the staircase of Sir Walter Pole’s house, coming down no doubt to prepare herself to leave after a concerning visit with poor Lady Pole. 

Mrs. Strange indeed looked worried and lost in thought as she reached the bottom of the stairs, pulling her shawl more tightly about her shoulders as if she felt a chill. 

“My lady,” the gentleman said smoothly as he stepped up beside her. She turned, looking half-surprised and half-irritated at the sudden intrusion of this mysterious man with the wild, white hair. 

“Yes?” she asked, frowning slightly.

“Please accept this gift from me my lady. A bouquet of flowers that I fear, are not nearly as lovely as your own breathtaking beauty.”

“Oh,” mumbled Mrs. Strange, and she reached out, as if in a dream and took the bouquet from the gentleman’s outstretched hand. “These are quite pretty. Thank you.” She spoke as if greatly distracted, bringing the flowers up to her face to inhale their fragrance.

Beside Stephen, the gentleman tensed, clearly waiting for Mrs. Strange to become overcome with passionate yearnings and throw herself at him. He even stepped back a tiny bit and spread his arms wide, as if in preparation for such an event to occur. Stephen felt frightfully embarrassed and wished he were anywhere else at the moment. 

“Mmm. My what a lovely perfume they emit,” Mrs. Strange smiled a soft smile, her cheeks coloring fetchingly with a new blush, and Stephen feared for a moment that the gentleman’s magic pollen had done it’s work. But then, the lady gathered her skirts and her shawl and the flowers and walked to the door. “I have the strongest urge to spend time with my husband,” she muttered as she opened the door and went through it, shutting it behind her. 

The gentleman cursed something horrible and stomped off down the servant’s hallway, and Stephen, sighing in dismay that his master was in a foul mood, yet buoyed by the fact that Mrs. Strange had not indeed been consumed by lust for him, followed reluctantly after. 

_______________________________________

Immediately upon arriving home, Mrs. Strange placed the bouquet of flowers that she’d picked up from somewhere (she no longer could recall where) on a little side table in the hallway and promptly went to find her husband. She discovered him in his study, working on magic, his nose buried in a book. He was quite pleasantly surprised however, when she dragged him to the bedroom and pushed him down on the bed to have her way with him. 

After they had made passionate love not once, but twice, and lay panting and tangled and sweat-damp in each other's arms, she told Jonathan, in the course of recounting the events of her day, of how she’d been given a lovely bouquet of flowers from someone at Sir Walter and Lady Pole’s house. 

Her husband, slightly jealous, (but far less jealous than he normally would have been considering that his wife had just attacked him with the ferocious appetite of a she-lion in heat), asked whom they were from. She responded that they were from a gentleman, and that she couldn’t quite remember his name. 

Jonathan didn’t like the sound of that one bit and insisted that he bring the flowers to Norrell’s house later that day, instead of letting her keep them. “I’ll not play host to flowers given to my wife by another man,” he said, affecting a false possessiveness that Arabella was clever enough and used to her husband’s moods enough to know wasn’t false at all. 

And so that is how the cursed, enchanted bouquet ended up in Norrell’s study, instead of staying inside Mr. and Mrs. Strange’s house. This was all well and good because Norrell’s house tended to be a bit gloomy, and Jonathan thought the place would do well with a bright splash of delicate color. Mr. Norrell had barely noticed them, and now the flowers sat in a glass vase, on a little side table, near a bookshelf, looking somewhat out of place, but still quite lovely. Soon, Mr. Norrell and Mr. Strange were immersed in a very intense conversation over the meaning of Belasis’ thoughts on water and its connexion to magic.

Norrell, as I’ve said, ignored the flowers, for what use had he for such fanciful things as flowers when there was talk of magic to be had with his closest friend? Childermass on the other hand, wanted to give them a look. He was quite fond of flowers, though he’d never let anyone know this about himself. He was fond of all things beautiful, but due to his general thriftiness, and gruff exterior, he tended not to purchase or display anything too soft or too delicate. Still, the flowers called to him with their interesting colors (mauve and burnt orange and pale cream), and so he wandered over to subtly inspect them. 

They were artfully arranged and smelled sweet when he leaned in to inhale their fragrance. Immediately however, he sensed something of magic about them. The sweet smell that permeated his nostrils and crept up into his brain, made his scalp tingle with the familiar feel of magic being done, but… and this was the confusing part of it, the magic felt very old and very unusual. Not at all like the small, everyday magics he routinely did in the service of Mr. Norrell, or like those grander and more complex magics done by Norrell or Strange themselves. This magic was wild and unpredictable, and Childermass was instantly suspicious of it.

He heard footsteps coming down the hall toward Norrell’s study and was at first irritated to see them resolve themselves into the shape of Mr. Henry Lascelles, who’d doubtless stopped by to bend Mr. Norrell’s ear with some sort of self serving nonsense. 

Lascelles sneered when he caught sight of Childermass, standing by the vase of enchanted flowers, but when Childermass’ eyes came to rest upon Lascelles’ face, he felt something new and very unlike the normal irritation he usually felt when seeing the man. There was a curious pulling sensation down his limbs and at the center of his belly that tugged at him when he looked at Lascelles.

Mr. Lascelles, obviously not feeling any such sensations himself, scowled more deeply, but, since Mr. Norrell was currently in conversation with Mr. Strange, in a fashion that Lascelles knew was unlikely to be easily interrupted, he moved instead toward Childermass, clearly meaning to spit out some disrespectful quip or come up with some order or another he could give Childermass to assert his place as gentleman and remind Childermass of his place as servant. 

He neared Childermass, and the table with the flowers and as he did so, his expression changed significantly. As he drew close, his sneer fell from his face to be replaced with a look of confusion. 

“My, those flowers are lovely,” he said, with a distant air of someone who has something on his mind. Instead of scolding Childermass, he leaned in and also smelled the fragrance of the bouquet. Childermass should have warned him that the flowers had something of dark magic about them, but he was too distracted by the sight of Lascelles’ thick lashes brushing the tops of his pale cheeks as he closed his eyes to inhale the flowers’ perfume, and found that his voice had died in his throat. 

Lascelles eyes opened and came to rest on Childermass’ face and he exhaled his breath in a rush. “Oh!” he said, sounding as if he’d just been told some shocking news. 

“You and I need to have a talk,” Childermass said, though truth be told, talking was the farthest thing from his mind at the moment. What he wanted to do instead was to put his mouth on Lascelles’ mouth, to press himself up against Lascelles’ body. To get his hands under Lascelles’ clothes. 

“Yes, of course,” Lascelles responded eagerly. “Perhaps somewhere private?” In his eyes Childermass could see burning embers of something hot and insistent that seemed to call to Childermass to hurry up and get them both alone together. 

Childermass grabbed Henry Lascelles by the elbow and steered him from the study. He knew Norrell’s house well, and he happened to know that there was a little room, used by the maids and housekeeper to store supplies and to sneak away for a nip of brandy when they so desired, and it was toward that little room (to the side of the kitchens) that he now led Mr. Lascelles.

He opened the door, shoved Mr. Lascelles through it and followed him swiftly before shutting and locking it behind them. There was a single narrow window above the door to the little room that let in a thin, pale light, but it was enough to see by, and Childermass didn’t need to see much. As soon as the door was locked, Lascelles was in his arms and their lips were pressed together. Soon, he felt the slick wetness of Lascelles’ tongue against his lips and he opened his mouth to receive it. He moaned at the explosion of lustful heat that bloomed deep inside his body as he pressed himself against the other man, and heard Lascelles make a similar noise. One of desperate need. 

“Why...why do I want you so?” Lascelles asked breathlessly during a short break in their enthusiastic kisses. “I _hate_ you.”

“I am fairly certain I hate you as well,” Childermass replied, before bending his attentions toward untying Mr. Lascelles’ neck cloth in preparation to put his mouth on Mr. Lascelles’ neck. “And yet, I am overcome with the desire to get you out of your clothes.”

“Yes, I feel the same urge,” Lascelles remarked gruffly and began unbuttoning Childermass’ waistcoat as he spoke. Soon, Childermass had Lascelles’ neck cloth undone and the man’s neck was exposed and Childermass fell upon it with his mouth, sucking and biting and licking. The resulting noises from Mr. Lascelles, soft gasps and low groans only made Childermass kiss and lick and suck all the more ardently. Dear god but the man smelled so _good_ . What cause did he have to smell _so damned good_?

Meanwhile, Mr. Lascelles had busied himself with undoing Childermass’ waistcoat and pulling up his shirt and vest and then pushing his hands up under them to touch Childermass’ bare skin, making Childermass gasp at the surprising pleasure of it. “Why, then,” he mumbled against the damp skin of Lascelles’ neck as the slight man’s fingers made burning tracks across his bare stomach, “why then, if we hate one another are we in a broom closet, endeavoring to divest each other of our clothing? It makes no sense.” 

“I do not care for the reason why,” Lascelles’ remarked impatiently, voice gone ragged at the edges, pressing up against Childermass in a way that left no doubt of his feelings or the state of his body. “I only know I want my cock inside you and I want it there as soon as can be arranged.” 

This little statement made Childermass’ knees weak for that is precisely what he wanted as well. He began immediately to work at the undoing of Lascelles trousers, and, after a few frustrating seconds, he abandoned this task in order to work on his own, assuming that Lascelles would be far better equipped to deal with the intricacies of his ridiculously fashionable clothing. The other man did indeed bend to the task of undoing his own trousers, and meanwhile, they fell again to kissing, wetly and quite sloppily. 

As soon as he could, Childermass reached inside Lascelles’ trousers and small clothes and grasped at his thick cock, which was erect and hot and felt far too good when sitting in the palm of Childermass’ questing hand. Lascelles gasped aloud and thrust into Childermass’ grip eagerly. “Oh! You filthy, sneaky, insolent rat!” he said, but Childermass suspected that his meaning was something quite different than what the words from his mouth implied. 

“That’s right Mr. Lascelles,” he growled against Lascelles’ mouth. “Tell me how you truly feel with my hand on your stiff cock,” and with that, he slid his hand further downward and endeavored to caress Lascelles’ bollocks, a move that made the other man gasp anew. For a few delightful moments, he played with Lascelles cock with his hand, until the man became overcome with lust and spun Childermass roughly about and pushed him against a nearby table. He then yanked Childermass’ trousers down, clearly in preparation to bugger him. 

“There’s oil!” Childermass yelped, pointing awkwardly backward with one hand toward a set of shelves nearby. “Oil for cooking. Use that to slick me up.”

He felt Lascelles step away momentarily to fetch the small bottle of oil and marvelled at how the absence of the man’s warmth against him felt so very hollow. Why, only yesterday, he had sworn that if he never saw the insufferable, foppish man again, it would be too soon, and now? Now he was all atingle at the prospect of taking Lascelles’ cock up his arse. 

A small thought of flowers, pretty and sweet smelling drifted across his mind, but at that point, Lascelles had managed to get the small vial of oil open and had slicked his fingers and was using them to investigate Childermass’ rear end, and so the thought disappeared like mist under the hot rays of the late morning sun. 

He felt Lascelles’ oiled fingertips probing at his opening and the feel of it was so delightful that he moaned and thrust himself backward against them. 

“Mmm very nice,” Lascelles purred, sinking his fingers into Childermass to the first knuckle. “Press back on me like the whore you are.”

“You’re a cheap hornswoggler,” Childermass replied, intending malice, but was dismayed to find that the words came out soft and wanting like that of an eager lover. 

“And you are nothing but Norrell’s valet. And it’s high time you learned your place,” Lascelles said, also in the softest, sweetest tones that completely belied his words. As he did so, he sank the full length of two of his fingers inside Childermass’ arse and both men moaned at the feel of it. 

After a few more sharp pumps of Lascelles’ fingers into Childermass’ tight opening, Childermass felt him withdraw his fingers and heard a telltale rustling of clothing that meant the man was pulling out his cock. He could barely contain his excitement at the prospect of being fucked, and thrust his hips back in wanton invitation. Why? Why was the thought of this man’s cock plumbing his depths so very desirable in this moment? He was certain that under any other circumstances, he’d be far happier to slap Lascelles’ face than to take his prick, but his scattered mind seemed incapable of picking apart the mystery. Instead, his only want, his fondest desire was to be fucked thoroughly and well by a man he normally loathed the sight of. 

He felt the head of Lascelles’ cock press against him and moaned at the aching pressure this caused. Lascelles moaned in response as he slowly pushed further in, causing the head to breach the tight ring of Childermass’ opening and pop inside. From there, it was a relatively simple and easy task for Lascelles, aided by the liberal application of cooking oil, to sink further and further, until he was buried deep inside Childrmass’ stretched arse. 

Lascelles’ paused for a moment, resting, letting Childermass grow used to his girth and his length and the two men shivered and gasped into the silence of the little room. 

“For the love of god, _move_ ,” Childermass heard the words escape his lips and wondered again at his wantonness and his pleading tone. He didn’t have time to wonder long however because Lascelles grasped his hips with both hands and gave a slow pull out and another slow push in and Childermass’ eyes rolled back in his head at the delicious feel of being filled to the brim with the other man’s hot prick. It wasn’t long before Lascelles had set up a steady, slow pace of thrusts in and out, each one accompanied by a breathless gasp from both of them. 

“You faithless... worthless... insolent... malcontent.” Lascelles punctuated his thrusts with insults, but his voice was all low and gruff with passion and not at all angry. Childermass felt the man wind his fingers into Childermass’ hair and grip it and pull on it and he could not help but let out a loud groan in response. The head of Lascelles prick was pressing up against the secret, sparking place deep inside him with each slow thrust, the place he endeavored always to reach with his own fingers when he pleasured himself, and this in turn was making his own cock stiff and throbbing. 

He reached down with an eager hand and began to stroke himself, and as he did so, he felt Lascelles' thrusts increase in speed and force behind him. The man had given off insulting him and now merely gasped out loud with each thrust, his fingers on Childermass’ hip likely leaving bruises with the forcefulness of their grip. Childermass clung to the table with one hand, giving himself a series of stiff jerks with the other as he cried out with every hot jab of Lascelles’ greedy prick. The onslaught of violent pleasure he felt prevented him from doing anything else.

Before long, Lascelles increased his pace, gasped louder still and then groaned deep in his throat and Childermass felt a liquid heat further slick the passage of the other man’s cock inside him. “Oh! Oh! Fuck!” Lascelles exclaimed as he finished with a few more clumsy thrusts of his hips.

Before Childermass could react to this however, Lascelles had pulled out and turned Childermass back to face him. He captured Childermass’ mouth with his own and kissed him roughly and passionately and Childermass gladly kissed him back. “There’s something here that still needs your attention,” he said when their lips parted for a moment and then he proceeded to press Lascelles down to his knees. 

Lascelles was no fool, and he quickly came to understand the task set before him. He grasped Childermass’ aching prick by the base and sank it into his hot mouth. Childermass’ head fell back and his eyes slid closed and he let out a throaty cry. He buried the fingers of both hands into Lascelles’ soft red hair and lost himself to the almost unbearable pleasure of the other man’s lips and tongue. Luckily, the little table Lascelles’ had fucked Childermass against was there to lean on, otherwise Childermass may have fallen with how weak his knees became at the feel of Lascelles sucking him. 

“Oh my, you have done this before,” he remarked breathlessly. “You must love to suckle on men’s cocks, you are so very good at it.” Lascelles only responded with a rough moan as he continued with his task. Miraculously, he was hard again as well and proceeded to stroke himself as he sucked Childermass. He added his slicked other hand to the motions of his mouth and Childermass gave up trying to speak and instead thrust gently into that wet heat with little pulses of his hips as he sighed and moaned helplessly. 

It wasn’t long before Lascelles enthusiastic ministrations had Childermass rushing to the edge of his pleasure and then over it, yelling Lascelles’ name as he peaked and spilled into Lascelles’ mouth. Lascelles continued to suck him through the twitches and thrusts of his climax, taking him all the way into his mouth so that Childermass could feel himself encased in the tight grip of the back of Lascelles’ throat. Simultaneously, the other man reached his own pleasure a second time and spilled onto the floor between them with a series of muffled grunts.

Soon, the pleasure faded from a sharp twist to a shivering warmth and Lascelles pulled his mouth up and off Childermass with an indecent popping noise. Childermass looked down at the flushed cheeks and bruised mouth of the man on his knees before him and felt a semblance of sanity creep back into his mind. 

“ _Oh lord_ ,” Lascelles groaned, covering his eyes with a long, pale hand. “Oh lord, what has happened?”

Childermass himself was also quite confused. The memory of what they’d just shared was still bright and flaring in his mind, but everything that came before… the reasons why they were here, panting and hot and covered with sweat and spend were hazy and hard to grasp with his head that felt stuffed full of cotton. He remembered a sweet smell and he remembered leading Lascelles quite eagerly toward this room with lust in his thoughts, but beyond that, nothing of substance could be recalled. 

“You...you bewitched me!” yelled Lascelles, clambering to his feet and hurrying to do up his trousers. “You used magic to bewitch me into lude acts!”

“I did no such thing,” Childermass mumbled as he too set about straightening himself and pulling up his clothing. “Why would I do so when I loath the very sight of you?”

“And I you!” Lascelles snapped. He was retying his neck cloth and running fingers through his hair in an attempt to smooth it. He looked quite pink and damp and very debauched and Childermass could not help but smile a bit at his disheveled appearance. “Wipe that smug look off your face or I’ll have you reported for abuse of magic!” Lascelles said, his mouth drawn down into a dark glower, his eyes sparkling with anger.

“Look sir,” Childermass said with a placating motion of his hands. “I am just as confused as you are over this...state of affairs. Let us speak to no one of it and hope that no one takes notice of our absence, or our...rumpled appearances.” 

“That will serve me quite well,” remarked Lascelles stiffly as he went to the door and after some fumbling, managed to get it open. He left swiftly, but not before bestowing Childermass with yet another scowl. Childermass grinned back at him, causing him to huff indignantly and slam the door in his wake. 

Childermass took some time cleaning himself up with a spare rag, straightening his clothing and smoothing down his own mussed hair before he felt confident enough to leave the little room. When he did so, he went back to Norrell’s study, thinking it would be far more notable for him to disappear than for him to return to the place he’d been before this little event had taken place. 

He stalked his way silently into Norrell’s study, keeping himself in the background as he often did. He found the three men, Norrell, Strange and Lascelles, gathered around Mr. Norrell’s desk and actively engaged in a debate on magic. Lascelles glanced up and shot him a warning look as he approached, but he ignored the man. 

“Mr. Norrell,” Childermass said, eyeing the strange bouquet of flowers on the table nearby with suspicion. “Mr. Norrell!” he repeated, more forcefully when Norrell predictably failed to notice that he was being spoken to. “Sir, might I have your attention for a moment.”

“Yes...what is it Childermass?” Norrell forestalled Strange’s last words with a polite hand as he turned to look at his servant and advisor. 

“Sir, there appears to be some dark and unusual magic afoot. The flowers, the bouquet that Mr. Strange so kindly brought you as a gift... it appears to be enchanted.”

Norrell’s eyes went wide at this and he turned them on Strange who held up his hands in a show of incomprehension. “I have no idea what enchantment he might be referring to,” the younger magician said. “Mrs. Strange brought them home from a recent visit to Lady Pole and Sir Walter Pole’s house. She said they were given to her by a mysterious gentleman who’s name she could not quite remember.”

This news seemed to distress Norrell, for he went a bit pale in the face. “We shall have a look at them then,” he remarked, moving to come around from behind his desk. 

“I’d be careful sir!” warned Lascelles with another quick and not-very-friendly look at Childermass. “Dark enchantments are not to be trusted.” 

“Yes, yes of course,” mumbled Norrell, as together, all four men warily approached the bouquet on the table. Childermass hung back, out of range of the smell of their perfume, and so did Lascelles. They exchanged another knowing glance, shot through with resentment as they did so. 

“Ahh,” remarked Strange. “There is a strong enchantment upon these flowers! I’d have noticed it sooner, but I was quite...distracted upon the return of my wife from Sir Walter’s house and did not detect it before now.” 

“Yes,” said Norrell thoughtfully. “It has the feel of some sort of enchantment of the senses. I’ve felt similar magics at work in love potions and other such trifles, though I’d never have done such magic myself mind you.” His reassurances to his guests were pointless as they would never have suspected such a thing from him in the first place. “These flowers seem to have been imbued with some sort of spell to invoke ardor and lust. Specifically aimed toward making two people find themselves in a compromising position, if you catch my meaning.” He looked uncomfortably up at Strange and then over at Lascelles and Childermass, blushing fiercely.

“Well,” replied Strange with a laugh in his voice. “It is quite lucky that all of us here are men, and therefore unlikely to be taken in by such an enchantment.”

“Yes,” said Lascelles, casting a furtive look in Childermass’ direction. “It is lucky indeed.” 

The flowers were swiftly thrown upon Norrell’s fire and burnt up, so that they could cause no further trouble. 

After an hour or so more of the discussion of magic, Lascelles went to leave and Childermass followed him silently out into the foyer. “I’ll not speak of it again if you won’t,” he said in a low voice as Lascelles put on his coat and prepared to leave. He wanted to make it clear that he had no hand in this obvious trickery and that he didn’t want it to happen a second time.

“Neither shall I,” Lascelles snapped back at him. “And should I see you about these premises and we are alone, I shall endeavor to leave your company as swiftly as possible.”

“And I yours,” replied Childermass. They stood there for the space of a few heartbeats without speaking and Childermass’ eyes met Lascelles’ and held there for a long moment. 

Suddenly, as if waking himself from a dream, Lascelles shook his head and scowled again at Childermass and turned and left. Childermass watched him go, his face drawn up on one side with a long, slow smile.


End file.
